So after I wrote about my T.A.R.D.I.S. messenger bag I got a comment from a Miss Cymbria Wood nominating me for the Versatile Blogger Award (nominees please click said link for rules). Thank you, Cymbria! I’m not quite sure what to do or what this means, but I’m assuming it’s not quite as glamorous as The Oscars. Still, I’m flattered. Flattered to know that people read my rantings, random thoughts, and scribbles about my crafts. My blog is all over the place, but in my head filled with randomness it makes sense.

Next on the list, I need to tell my nominator 7 things about myself…lord…I don’t know if I know 7 things about myself. I mean I do, because…I’m me…but…what do I say? What to say…what to say….

1. Hipsters piss me off. Seriously. They piss me off. The other day, for example, this girl comes through my line and as I’m ringing her up, a song by Modest Mouse comes on. This girl is 20 years old, she’s dressed VERY nicely, carrying a Coach purse and shopping bag, and has an iPhone. I then hear her say, “I used to listen to Modest Mouse, like, back in high school,” I looked at her quizzically thinking “So like 2 years ago?” and she continues to say “But now they’re, like, too main stream for me.” Um, excuse me, but, and correct me if I’m wrong here, Modest Mouse is the most non-mainstream thing about this entire sequence. I think we have some Pretentiousil in the back. Perhaps I could could recommend you take some so you can stop acting like a douche. It’s not just that though. It’s pretty much everything. Like the belt around the tiny waist of a girl with a TERRIBLE hair cut that I saw one day. The hair cut I could have forgiven because we’ve all gotten bad haircuts that we thought looked awesome, but then I saw the belt. The belt had the word “SWAG” written all over it. I wanted to knock her on the floor and scold her like a dog. “NO! NO! BAD TEENAGER! NO!!!!!”

moving on….

2. OMG I LOVE LOST! Still? Yes, still. I was actually just talking to my oldest sissy about this last night. I’m pretty positive I’ve watched all the seasons from start to finish 4 times….or more. I’m currently doing the same with Doctor Who (new Who not classic Who.) It becomes this whole different level of nerding that seems almost foreign. On another note, my hubby and I discussed last night, after I realized how excited I got talking about Once Upon A Time, about “what he did to me.” Which we decided he did nothing to me but give me “new avenues of expression” for the nerd that always lived inside me.

3. I kind of dig video games. I played the occasional video game before we met. It was usually something Mario oriented. After we got married, he introduced me to how awesome(ly frustrating) video games are. I started playing God of War, Silent Hill, Fable (not so impressed with that one), Mortal Kombat, and a few others. I’ve been a bad gamer recently, though. I’ve been much to preoccupied with crafting.

4. I advocate for a healthy lifestyle. Exercise, eating well, etc. However, I do have my moments, for example; I broke my foot and haven’t been to the gym in a month and a half, or done anything active. I know I could do weights (the machines not the free weights) but I just haven’t gone. I also have my moments that I eat nothing but junk all day and feel like a fake for preaching about healthy living. Also, I smoke…which makes me feel equally guilty. Smoking is not only disgusting, but it’s bad for your health. I want to quit, but it hasn’t happened. I’ll get there.

5. I get along REALLY well with my family…which is apparently weird to some people. I mean REALLY WELL. We’re the type of family that will turn Groundhog Day into a family gathering. Our Christmases consist of the following schedule: Christmas eve we get together and start making cinnamon rolls. We watch movies, play games, eat chili, play games, watch more movies, go to Mass, watch another movie, play more games, go to bed. Christmas Day our day starts at 7 or 8 AM, we eat cinnamon rolls, have coffee, open stockings, open presents, drink more coffee (and maybe have another cinnamon roll), explore our presents, play games, prepare dinner/lunch, play games, eat, play games, eat some more, pay more games, watch a movie, play games again. </end day> We will take any chance we get to make the dumbest holiday a huge family get together. A lot of people don’t quite understand why, I can’t explain it. We’re just really close. We like each other a lot.

6. My husband is awesome, and anyone that doesn’t enjoy his company is insane. He can be immature, but he’s a boy. Boys are supposed to be immature sometimes, but he’s a fun kind of immature. Even when he does things that annoy the hell out of me, I look back on it and think “that was kind of funny.” It’s pretty cool being married to your best friend. For our story, if you wish, you can read it here or here.

and finally:

7. I like to think I can make allthethings, but I get discouraged easily. However, as you could see from my awesome T.A.R.D.I.S bag, I was successful with that. I have so many ideas running through my brain on things I want to make, but I haven’t started half of them. I want to, though. Some day perhaps I will. I also like to think I can manage 1,259,756,896,432,679 projects at the same time…I can’t. My ADD starts running rampant and I get confused.

So that’s me. Or a little bit of me, anyway. Thanks again! And to my nominees, have fun!

So, earlier this month, I signed up for Doctor Who (almost) 50th Anniversary gift exchange on Reddit. For a couple weeks I struggled to come up with some sort of idea for what to get my lucky match. When I retrieved my match, I had a brilliant idea to make a T.A.R.D.I.S. messenger bag. I did some research, tried to figure out how to do this especially since this would be the first time I used my sewing machine. A friend of mine sent me a link to this messenger bag. I was super stoked about it. The following is the story of that adventure and the nerve wrecking sewing that followed (and of course the lucky results).

So naturally, with any project, you start off with a little alcohol. I saw this at the shoppette, and thought “I want a pina colada, and don’t want to put forth a whole lot of effort. I’ll give this a shot.”

Oh. My. God. That was a bad idea. Whoever invented this shit should be ashamed of themselves. (I’m talking to you, Bethenny Frankel. Seriously. Don’t even go there. It’s awful.)

We had some pineapple juice, so I added that in hopes that it helped at least a little.

It did. Now that I’m equipped with some alcohol, it’s time to begin.

This is how I wanted it to look, but I wasn’t entirely sure how to make that happen. I had 4 more sketches, and had my expectations too high. (Side note, that’s now how it turned out)

It was at this point that I started to freak out. How THE FUCK am I going to do this? Seriously…How? What made me think I could do this? I stared at my supplies and the computer screen for almost 30 minutes before I got up the courage to start working on it. I unfolded and refolded fabric, examined the ribbon with such intensity it was as if I had never seen ribbon before, and I began to wonder if I was missing something. Then I figured if I didn’t start now, I would never start it and I would be forced to buy something for this person…which I didn’t want to do. Mostly because I would have to admit to defeat and return everything I bought after spending an hour in Wal-Mart trying to pick everything out with the aid of the kindly craft section worker…or whatever they call themselves. Employees. Thats the right word. Yeah.

So, I started.

Well that only took an hour. Seriously. It took a fucking hour to cut the blue fabric, cut and place the white fabric, and cut and place the ribbon. I hadn’t even started sewing yet and I was already annoyed. Must. Keep. Going. Also, the idea of a messenger bag freaked me out, so I switched to a sling tote.

Then, as I was cutting the second piece (which I was already concerned about seeing as it took me an hour to finish the first one) Teemo decided he’d help me. Yep. He jumped in my lap and put himself in that position right when I reached to grab the scissors after I measured out the second piece. Thanks, Teemo. You’re an asshole.

Thirty scary minutes later, (yes it took me 30 minutes to sew on three ribbons…give me a break it’s my first time using my sewing machine) I got this far. So far so good. *Deep breath* moving on.

Oh mylanta I DID IT!!!!!!! One window done. That’s what’s up. (That was my legitimate reaction to finishing this one…six inch…window. I hadn’t even gotten to the hard part yet.)

HAHAHA!!! Oops…Guess I’ll have to cut more ribbons…oh well…Whatever. It’ll be covered up.

When I moved on to the second window, got the ribbons placed, this is how it looked, but this is how I felt. (watch the video. It’s worth it…and it’s only 4 seconds)

Let’s jump ahead a bit. Both windows are finished on both sides, and I’m 100% satisfied. The second set of windows looks immensely better than the first set of windows, but at that point I kind of knew what I was doing.

Here, I’m starting to wonder if I should shorten it. It seemed rather large. Although, I did cut it to be bigger anyway because I wanted a BIG bag, except now I was thinking it was too big.

Screw it. Let’s just keep on moving.

The original pattern called for some pleating. I was unsure if I actually wanted pleating, but I figured “what the hell…I’ll do it anyway.”

Well that worked out a lot better than I thought it would. Let’s sew the pieces together. (again my “maybe this is too big. Maybe I should shorten it” thoughts reappeared)

Woot! Woot! YAY!

This is my “oh my! I hope that’s not too big!” face (p.s. That’s what she said)

Side note: For the rest of this project, I worried that it was too large and that I wouldn’t be able to shorten it. I did, however, manage to shorten it twice, by flipping it inside out, taking it to the sewing machine (on the bottom of course) and cutting off the excess.

At this point I started to get tired, and texted my sissy a picture titled “and this is what it looks like if I wear it as a skirt!” Yeah…It was that big… I decided to call it quits for the night. It was after all really late…(this was also Day 2 of the project.) But before I went to bed, I realized I didn’t have black fabric for the “Police Public Call Box” sign and went in search for something in my closet or office that was black that I could repurpose.

I found this. It’s not what you think, but exactly what you think. Yes, it is a french maid costume, BUT it’s a Magenta costume. I’m not a dirty mistress…don’t worry. Anyway, my only concern is that the black fabric is velvet…and stretchy. Whatever. I’ll use it. Also, at this point in the project, I realized how easy this had become and how all my worries were stupid.

Day three, I stared at my project and began speculating that I really could still turn it into a messenger bag. The size was there, the opening, while slightly smaller because of the pleating, was still 17in. I had successfully shortened it in length (first shortening) and it looked a lot better. I fiddled around with the idea that I could easily make a flap and sew it on after I took out a few stitches. I hadn’t put the band on top to create the hem, and I’m PRETTY SURE I could make it work. Plus, I’m almost positive I would have to attach the strap and flap before I did the liner. I put that on hold while I made a pocket for the inside so I could stew about it a little longer. After the pocket was finished I cut out some pieces for the flap.

I measured the bag top to bottom and added an inch, then cut out some white and blue fabric for the flap. With the wrong sides facing I sewed the two pieces together save for a few stitches at the corner so I could flip it right side out, finished stitching the sides together, then attached it. It worked, which was exciting for me, but at the same time I then realized that after sewing the two pieces together, then sewing it to the bag, I should have allowed myself at least 4 more inches for the flap to reach top to bottom. It still serves it’s function so that’s fine. I proceeded to move on to liner. I turned the bag inside out and traced the bag on the white fabric. I cut that out and sewed the pocket on one side, then sewed the two pieces to the bag (one on each side).

I then attached the strap…which, as I already said, should have done BEFORE the liner (and forgot to do), but no worries, it’s still fine. And it’s hitting the length I wanted.

Front view after the strap and flap are attached.

Under the flap

The back view

Inside

I then discovered a conundrum. I hadn’t attached the black fabric to the front. I should have done that before I created the flap. I should have sewn the black fabric to the blue, THEN attached the white and THEN attach to the bag. But I didn’t do that, so I’d have to improvise.

Okay, so after I attached the black fabric and the ribbon to the flap, I began to cut out my paper stencil. The stencil was too big, and I tried 4 different colors of markers, a disappearing ink marker, and using my sewing machine for embroidering. NOTHING worked on that fabric. I spent the rest of that day, and the following day trying to figure it out while I worked on a few finishing touches. I have no clue how to do this. I also tried stitching inside the stencil and that didn’t work.

Then, last night one of my friends, let’s call her Ravenous…she might appreciate that, came over and we brainstormed. At first she thought I could cross stitch the letters. We tried it on white fabric with just the “P” and then realized how much work that would take and how little time I had left. We tried tracing the letters with the chalk, and it still didn’t work. Then, I had an epiphany. I bought iron-on adhesive fabric. DUH! Holy shit. Everything would have been solved HOURS ago if I had just remembered that I bought iron-on adhesive. FINALLY!

We ironed the white fabric to the iron-on paper, I used the stencil to trace the letters backwards, cut the letters out using my Exact-O Knife, and put them in place.

Utter. Satisfaction. now, I just needed to do some final touches to the flap, cut off some stray strings, and voila! Relief is in sight.

The finished front.

The finished back

The finished inside (well under the flap at least.)

I left a piece of myself on the strap.

And this is what it looks like on a short person (aka me.)

I am so damn pleased with myself. I am SURE that I could make another one, and if anyone wants one, I may charge only because of the supplies and the time it took to make it. I want so badly to keep it for myself, but know that I can’t. I am now afraid that if I give it to this girl she won’t like it. I just hope she understands the effort I put into it and appreciates it for it’s usefulness and originality. Honestly, It could probably be used as a laptop bag because of the opening being 17 in’ wide. It’s about 20 in’ deep and has a large inside pocket. Also, in my finishing touches, I shortened the bag again. But I did that while Ravenous and I were trying to figure out the lettering. We decided it would be more like a messenger bag, and pull the whole thing together if I flattened the bottom. Plus, for this being my first project with the sewing machine, for creating something from nothing, and only using the tutorial once to get measurements for the fabric (which I ignored anyway), I’m pretty fucking proud of myself. On top of all that, I only spent about $10-$12 total for everything, and I am absolutely convinced I would have never found anything that awesome for that amount of money if I had bought her something.

I’m going to go bask in my awesomeness for a little while longer before I have to go to work. YAY! Who has two thumbs and is awesome? THIS GIRL.

So, I wrote about this before, but I had another thought about it last night. I was working on a floorset with about 10 other people all of whom are seven to three years younger than me. The three years doesn’t sound like that big of a difference, but when your priorities don’t match up, and you realize that neither do your ideas of a good time do either, it’s a big difference. We took a break for “lunch” at 3 AM and I rode to McDonald’s with two other girls. One of them had just graduated high school, was in her freshman year of college and part of a sorority. She’s super sweet, but the things she said made me laugh a little. After listening to her and the other girl carry on a conversation about things I had absolutely no interest in or could relate to other than “I remember when I did that…6 years ago”, I realized how much of a difference there is between 25 and 19. The two of them were talking about boys. Since I couldn’t involve myself in the conversation and realized I had no interest anymore in the exploits of the single life, I simply observed their conversation with a slight amazement. Don’t laugh, I know I’ve only been married a year, but I realized that after you take a big step like that you start looking at things differently. Things you see single people do that you think “Did I act like that?” It’s a mating ritual that is just as fascinating to watch as the mating ritual of two monkeys. The courtship, the hope, the overreacting, the feeling of endless love. So anyway, I observed. The girl driving, sorority girl, said “He’s just this guy that I’m kind of maybe talking to but I don’t know if we are” Now, she didn’t say “I don’t know if we’re dating” she said she didn’t know if they were talking or not.

For the rest of the car ride all it was all I could do not to ask “So how do you not know if you’re talking to someone?” just to be a smart ass, but I realized I used to use the same wording. So, I held my comments in.

This whole situation led me to wonder when my wording changed from “I’m sort of talking to this one guy, but I don’t know” to “There’s this guy that I’m interested in” to “I may actually want to settle down” and it happened somewhere between 19 and 23 I think. At age 23 was I realized I couldn’t do certain things anymore, not because of my age really (maybe partly but not totally), but more because that wasn’t who I was anymore. For instance, my 23rd birthday, we went to the bar, I had one too many shots, left before midnight and woke up with one hell of a hangover. That was the first time I uttered the words “I’m too old for this.” Maybe not out loud, but to myself. And while that might sound ridiculous, isn’t that about when it starts? When you start not being able to stay up too late and when you start realizing that hangovers occur far too easily. Two years earlier, I had the same extravaganza, woke up from the aftershock of my 21st birthday and was fine. At 23, you’re in that awkward stage between 21 and 25 wondering “What now?” It’s when you start realizing there actually is a difference between yourself and the person that just turned 21, the person that just graduated high school.

As people age, more and more they like to say “It’s the (whatever number) anniversary of my 21st birthday” I say, to hell with that. I’m going to celebrate my 23rd year as my forever birthday. Things were hopeful, I realized I was growing up, and while it seems like a bit of a drag to realize you can’t go out every single night and get shit hammered like you used to, your goals in life change. I know not every person is like that and I’m just making a general assumption. I know some 30-year-olds that are about as mature as a 20-year-old. Then again I know some 20-year-olds that are more mature than their peers.

Truth is I am still in that awkward stage. I want to hold onto my youth and tell myself I can still pull an all nighter and drink until 4 am. Every once in a while I surprise myself and do it without thinking. I’ve been watching a lot of “How I Met Your Mother” and the episode where Barney sets out to do everything on the Murtaugh list and Ted decides to do the opposite and act like an old man. We’re in the in between stage. We may not be able to do everything we could when we were 16, but we’re also no where near allowed to say “I’m too old for that shit.” Though I am guilty on multiple occasions of using that line, but with good reason I think.

Point is, people change. Life changes. And that’s a beautiful thing. Whatever juncture you’re at in your life, you should cherish it. One day you’ll be able to look back and say “remember when…” or defy age by saying “I’m not too old to do that!” Whatever the case may be, don’t live your life wishing you had done this or that or had not done this or that. Growing up sucks, but maybe it’s not that bad.

So, for today, I’m 23. Maybe I’ll be 23 next year too. Guess we’ll see

I remember it perfectly. It was nice afternoon in May. I was driving around town on the scooter, and I was enjoying the weather. I stopped at the bank to make a payment on my car loan and as I was walking out, two classmates, still in high school, pulled up. They got out of the car. We chatted a little bit about this and that, and right when I mounted my scooter, the girl said “Oh my God, Kelley! Did you hear about Casey?” I asked “Casey who?” she told me. I said, “uh…no? What happened.” At this point my heart was already racing. I knew it had to be something bad because of the way she had slouched down and got really close to me. She got quiet and said, “He overdosed. We don’t know on what, we were told it wasn’t on purpose.” I was stunned. “So, what does that mean? Is he in the hospital?” “No,” she said. “He died.” I had no response but a simple “oh. Wow.”

I almost didn’t believe it. I went home, I got on the internet, and sure enough there it was on Facebook and (at the time when I had it) Myspace. It was staring me in the face. I didn’t know how to handle it. Utter shock. I told my parents. I called my friends. Then, I went about my day. Every once in a while I would blurt out “this is crazy.” It wasn’t until the next day when I woke up thinking “That was an awful dream” that I realized it was real. I tracked down his mother’s phone number and called her when I got off work. I spent an hour and a half sitting in my car talking to her and sobbing. It wasn’t until I started talk to her that I realized that day in particular was the day we had made plans. We were going to get together when I got off work, have a picnic, go shopping, and end it with drinks since his birthday wasn’t but a few days before that.

She told me that when we had gotten in a huge fight that threatened to end our friendship he was heart broken. That when we rekindled our friendship he was overjoyed. That he talked about me to them every time we had seen each other. She told me that she knew just from that that I was important to him. That I was a major part of his life. She knew we had had plans because he had told her we were going to hang out that day. It was at that point that my heart broke in half. I had no idea that I meant that much to him. To this day, I still wish I had expressed to him more what an influence he was on me.

When I was having issues we had talked and he had reminded me of a song that had come out when we were younger that had connected the two of us. Follow Me by Uncle Kracker. He told me that no matter what the situation, that no matter what the circumstances, to hear that song, to sing it to myself, and to know that he was pulling for me. That he was thinking of me. That he would always be there. I fought tooth and nail to go to his funeral, but I was unable to get the day off at one of my jobs. The day of his funeral, I woke up and heard that song. I heard it on the way to work, and during the few short hours I was at work, I heard it twice. My boss had no idea why I was emotional and pulled me aside. I explained to him the conversation that had happened between me and another manager about me having that day off to go to the funeral and how I wasn’t granted the day off. He graciously sent me home, but at that point, it was already too late for me to go. The funeral had already started. I got in my car to go home and the song was on again. I sobbed the rest of the afternoon, and spent that evening feeling a little dead inside.

Whether or not you’re a believer in spirits, what happened to me 2 days after the funeral goes as follows: I had fallen asleep on the couch while I was watching a movie. I remember hearing a door quietly open and then quietly close. I opened my eyes slightly to see a shadow, the TV turned off, and I felt pressure on the couch next to me. A hand touched my arm, I heard the words “It’s okay, Kelley. I know you loved me,” and the blanket came up over my shoulder. I fell back asleep but shortly afterwards woke back up, thinking it was a dream, until I got my bearings and realized the TV was off, and the blanket was covering my shoulder.

I spent the next couple of weeks talking to his mother on and off and crying with her. I went out to his grave multiple times and put flowers out there and “talked” to him. Over the course of a year I heard Follow Me many more times than I ever had. When a year had passed, my father went out to the grave site with me as comfort. When I arrived, his whole family was there. We hung around and chatted for a while, and as usual, I began to cry. I told his mother how I felt like I didn’t get to say good bye. How I was angry that I didn’t make it to his funeral. How he had died 2 days before we had planned to hang out for the first time in weeks. She reassured me that he knew he was in my thoughts. She told me about the experiences that she had with seeing him at the end of the bed. I told her about what happened. She laughed and said “He’s just making his rounds.”

Years later, I still find it difficult. This last may was the first time I was unable to make it to his grave since we’re in South Carolina. I requested for my father to put flowers on his grave for me. I called his mother and asked her to say a few words for me. We talked and cried more. There have been so many times that have been difficult for me that Follow Me has come on the radio or played over the speakers in a store and I felt comforted. I know deep down that it’s luck of the draw. That it just happened as a result of randomness, but something in me still pokes and says “No, it’s Casey.” The last time I went to his grave. I pulled up and to the church graveyard and the song started. I sat in my car for the duration of the song, and then got out and placed the flowers on his grave. After I said a few words, I left and Ceelo Green’s, Fuck You came on the radio. I had this vision of him sitting in the passenger seat and the two of us singing our hearts out to it. That was him.

Why is it though, that after all these years, I still can’t come to terms with it? Is it really just because I feel like I didn’t get my good bye? Is it because I feel cheated on closure? At some point the tears have to stop. At some point the grieving needs to end. But when is that? How long does it take to grieve over someone? How long does a person need to get over a death? I know everyone is different. I have been to many funerals and no death has hit me quite as hard as this one. It has been 4 years now and he’s still in my thoughts. I still feel him.

I just came from the ER to get my stitches removed. As I was leaving, I began thinking of all the things I need to do for the wedding still and how I don’t feel like I have any time. I was thinking “I just want to put this in someone else’s hands. I just want to be done. I am SO STRESSED” and what song comes on the radio? Follow Me. I laughed. I teared up. I sang along. I felt better. The closer I got to home, the more I got thinking on this topic and how I wish he could be there. Exactly how long does it take. How can I still feel the sting after 4 years?

I’m not sitting here blaming myself. I ‘m not sitting here say “oh, poor pity me.” I’m just trying understand the reasoning behind it. He’s here. I know he’s here. Even if not as much as he was. I know he’s still here, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to be disconnected from him forever. Maybe that’s it. I know I’ll be 100% okay with it some day, but for right now, I have to settle for 90%. Some day that other 10% will be filled with the feeling of being okay.

I’m not saying it affects my whole life, but it’s just that 10% of my year that my thoughts are filled with “why him?” or something to that effect. For now, I know that my day will be good. I know I have hope for the day all because of that song, and I’m okay with that.

It’s a picture of how “well” my day went. First of all, I write to you this evening not from my laptop buy from my husband’s laptop…just to give you an idea.

I couldn’t sleep worth a damn last night so needless to say, I had a hard time getting up this morning. I was able to crawl out of bed, sleepy, cranky, and rarely hopeful for the day ahead. Regardless, I put on a smile, poured my coffee, and made my way to work.

Not one minute after I turned into the parking lot, I received a phone call from my husband that went a little something like this:

T:Uh, not to add to your stress or anything, but I got some bad newsMe: Oh, god…what happened?
T: uh…Sophie sort of…peed…on your lap top.
Me: WHAT THE FUCK! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?
T: uh…she also peed on your crocheting
Me: OH MY FUCKING GOD! Does my lap top still work?
T: I think so…hold on (he checks) Well it turned on.
Me: good freaking god! GAH! That fucking piece of shit cat!
T: Hey Kelley….maybe we should get rid of her.

So started the shit storm. I got even more upset. I sent an angry text to the hubby, not aimed at him, just angry in general, asking him to call the vet. He called me back to tell me that my laptop was soaked. I asked him to check it again, and he reported that it wouldn’t turn on. So started the tears. He again suggested that we should get rid of the cat. I hung up with him after he tried to calm me down and it didn’t quite work. He needed to go to bed, I needed to cry in peace. I sat in my car for five minutes bawling. I picked myself up, and walked inside.

After going in, I started to get concerned that my associate wouldn’t show up since it was already past the time she needed to be there, and I wasn’t quite sure if she remembered that she needed to work at 8AM. I called her, and as soon as I hung up, there she was standing at the door.It was possibly the the most uplifting thing about my day. She later said to me, without me explaining why I was having a bad day, “A day above ground is a good one. Remember that, Kelley.” That made me feel a little better considering the circumstances, you know, the time of year and all. ANYWAY, after that I found something I’m not entirely sure I was supposed to see, I couldn’t get more than one of the documents that I needed to print, found out, almost too late, that I needed to go make a deposit at the bank, realized I didn’t have any cigarettes left, and when we got back from the bank, somehow my coffee fell off the counter and splattered all over the floor my associate had just mopped, I cried even more. My only source of caffeine and only way to keep myself remotely agreeable for the rest of the morning, was lying in sporadic puddle on the floor. I stepped into the back about four times to cry, unbeknownst to my associate and assistant manager.

The reason for the tears, however, was not the little things that kept going wrong, it was 2 really big things. The second biggest issue was my laptop. EVERYTHING is on my laptop. Pictures, contracts, wedding stuff, pictures that haven’t been downloaded/uploaded. All sorts of shit. I’m upset about that, but hopeful the computer repair shop can pull my hard drive and get all my…everything…off my computer.

The biggest reason for my tears was the prospect of getting rid of Sophie. I frankly don’t give a shit how stupid it sounds to any of you. I understand she’s just a cat. She’s just a pet. I get it. The thing is, I started thinking about the fact that I owe her everything. I told you all before the story of how I came across miss Sophie Ann. It was cold, really cold. Below zero type of cold. She was a stray. She was skinny and hungry and just wanted love. I couldn’t bear it anymore so I took her in. What got me was this: if I had ignored her, if I had just left her in the cold, she would have stayed outside, scavenging for food, and probably would have died. She was being fed by neighbors, but she needed more than that. She needed a home. She was still a kitten and she already had frostbite on her ears.

How could you turn your back on a creature like that? I know she’s ruined my laptop, I know she has peed on my crocheting, but even through all of that I’d rather find a solution to it than give her up. I can’t get rid of her. She’s a part of me. She’s done things that under normal circumstances would result in any person giving their pet away, but I’m not a normal person. I can’t justify taking her to a shelter when I’ve invested so much time into her; when I took her in, out of the cold, and nursed her back to health. The thought of her going to a home where she won’t get the love and attention she deserves kills me. Even more so, the thought of her leaving that home for a pound and being put down because no one will adopt her, kills me even more. She deserves a good life. She’s been uprooted four times. She doesn’t need to be uprooted again.

I was talking to my mother while I was awaiting the doctor, and told her I had learned that when a cat rubs against something, including a person, they are marking it as theirs. It’s their territory. When I first encountered Miss Sophie, she did this to me. She rubbed against my legs, she jumped in my lap, she rubbed against my chest, she purred, she nuzzled. She claimed me. I was hers. (Just explaining this I’m getting emotional) Sitting in the vet office, after sobbing to the vet about how I was at my wits end but couldn’t get myself to give her away, Sophie climbed out of her kennel and proceeded to rub against my legs. She jumped in my lap and curled up the way she used to when she was a kitten. She reminded me why I loved her so. I explained to the vet what had happened, explained that whenever I was upset, crying, or sick, she would coddle me in her own special way. I told her that sitting there waiting for her she did just that. She sensed something was wrong. I think she knew she had screwed up. Long story short (oops…too late), the vet gave me some ideas and some medication for her just in case her UTI hadn’t cleared. The way I explained it to the hubby went a little something like this: She is mine. I am hers. So again, how can you abandon that? How can you turn your back on an unconditional love. I’m the closest to a mother she’s known since her owners threw her out in the cold. As I sit here typing, she’s rubbing against my ankles. She is now confined to my office with her food and two litter boxes in hopes of retraining her to use the litter box. Hopefully something works. She can’t leave me. I can’t leave her.

MOVING ON. After the vet appointment, I dropped her off at the house, grabbed a dress to return, my laptop so I could take it to Best Buy, and left the house again. I cancelled my crochet group so I could get this stuff done and because I was pretty positive I wouldn’t make good company tonight. Best Buy was my first stop. I walked in, walked over to the Geek Squad counter and the following ensued:

me: I have a question. I have had a bad day and I desperately need some good news (insert smile)
associate: Okay…what can I help you with?
me: My computer doesn’t work. I need to know if it’s covered through my protection plan from when my parents purchased it.
A: what happened?
me: it got wet
A: how’d it get wet
me: (slight awkward laugh) well…my cat urinated on it. (cat currently has UTI)
A: (laughed at me) Well it’s not going to cover that.
me: is there anything you can do? Can you pull the hard drive? Something? All of my stuff is on here. All of my wedding stuff is on here. EVERYTHING is on here.
A: (laugh again) Just because your cat decided to use the bathroom on your computer doesn’t mean I’m going to help you. That sucks. Sorry.
Me: (astonished…starting to get irritated) There has to be something you can do. I just need some help. Point me in a direction.
A: (rolls eyes) *sigh* where did you buy it?
me: it was purchased in Rapid City, South Dakota.
A: (sarcastically) well that doesn’t help me. I need a number.
Me: (gave him the number for the Best Buy store in Rapid)
A: It’s not popping up. Sorry (started to walk away)
Me: uh…Can you look it up somehow? Rapid City, South Dakota.
A: (sarcasm again) Ma’am, listen. It doesn’t work like that. I don’t know what to tell you.
Me; I just need you to point me in the direction of someone ANYONE that can help me. EVERYTHING and I mean EVERYTHING is on this computer.
A: Well you could take it to the computer repair shop I guess. It’s in the shopping center over that way.
Me: Okay. Thank you.
A: Just don’t tell them what happened to it *muffled* that was a stupid thing to do
Me: Excuse me?
A: I’m just saying.
Me: so basically you’re telling me that if I hadn’t told you what had happened with my computer, you would have helped me?
A: well…pretty much. I could have taken it and sent it in, but they would have run tests on the liquid and it would have come back as something other than coffee, tea, or water, and you wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. But yes, I would have taken it. Just because your cat decided to urinate on your computer doesn’t mean I have any right to fix it.

He then walked away. I stood at that counter for a couple more minutes, waiting for him to return because I, stupidly, thought he was trying to further assist me, but he came back out of the back room, he saw me, rolled his eyes at me and walked the other way. I proceeded to stand up straight, completely pissed off while the other associates stared at me. I furiously zipped up my laptop bag and walk out of the store. Save for two times I’ve been in that store, I haven’t been helped properly. I’ve been met with sarcasm, laziness, and them outright ignoring me. I’m talking, I walk in, they see me, and they turn around and walk in the other direction type of ignoring me. The only two times I’ve actually been helped was when the hubby and I bought our washer and dryer and when I went and bought our digital camcorder. This was the last straw for me.

After telling my mother what had happened, she got online and talked to the Geek Squad through an online chat on bestbuy.com, and within 5 minutes they were able to pull up my warranty and find out if I was still covered. FIVE FREAKIN MINUTES it took him to pull this shit up and the guy in the store “couldn’t find it” because he couldn’t locate the Rapid City store on his computer. She offered to call corporate or send them a “nasty email” and as grateful as I was to her for her help, I told her no. I’m a big girl, I can handle it myself, it happened to me, and it would be better coming from me since I was actually involved. I got online and tried to send an e-mail and it didn’t work, so I just called the corporate office. I didn’t want to mess with the manager of the store because…well I just didn’t. I explained to the lady on the phone that I wasn’t looking for a handout, I didn’t want anything for free, and I didn’t want any coupons. I simply wanted to explain to her what happened so it could be communicated to the store that they probably lost a customer because their Geek Squad agents are incompetent assholes.

The tip of the iceberg was when he laughed at me. He flat out laughed at me, like it was my fault it happened. It was a “you’re an idiot” laugh. I told the customer relations lady that his whole attitude was unprofessional, that he made me feel like it was my fault that cat peed on it, and he more rubbed it in my face than actually tried to help me. She interrupted me at one point saying “wait, wait wait. Now, hold on a second. Did he even answer ANY of your questions or did he just act like an ass the whole time?” I told her “No, not really. He just rubbed it in my face the whole time I was attempting to communicate with him. The most he gave me was ‘well you could try the computer repair shop I guess.’ The man called me stupid. I’m pretty sure actually giving me anything constructive was the last thing on his list.” In the middle of me telling this story to my hubby, I had to interrupt him from calling the store to tell him I had already contacted the corporate office.

I did tell the woman that while I’ve only ever made one complaint before, so I NEVER do this, I could honestly be doing this because I’ve had a shitty day, but it just all seemed a little off to me to let it go unnoticed. I told her that I’ve worked customer service for years and no matter how bad of a day you’re having, like mine for example, you still put on a smile, explain policy, and help out the best you can. I don’t give a shit if he was supposed to get off work in five minutes or if he just got there. His job is to assist customers and he did the exact opposite. My point was and still is, he was sarcastic, rude, and one of the most unhelpful employees I have ever encountered. The woman on the phone said that it’s probably a good thing I brought it to their attention because who’s to say that 10, 15, or 20 other people didn’t have the same problem with the store or this associate in particular and didn’t report it. I was assured it would be handled accordingly. At current I’m trying to locate the Best Buy that’s in Summerville so I can make sure I don’t ever go back to the one on Rivers ever again. Too many times I’ve gone in there and either witnessed associates fighting with each other on the floor (I mean fighting…calling each other names, cussing, and yelling type of fighting) and I’ve been treated rudely. The biggest reason I continued to go back there was because I didn’t know there was another one close by and I knew where this one was. I didn’t need to go searching for a store in a place I’d never been. I wanted needed someone to know what was going on.

A while back, I had written about our pets being outright assholes. Teemo has exhibited this in the flesh for the past 2 days. Every couple of months or so, he gets into a funk. We have yet to figure out why this is. It doesn’t stem from being left alone for too long. It’s not like he has a lack of attention, but for some reason, he always turns into a huge asshole.

The last couple of days he’s felt the need to exhibit his dominance. He’s biting Luna’s legs, tail, and snout. He’s terrorized the cat, and generally he leaves her alone. They have their play time, but most of the time when the puppy starts going after Miss Sophie Anne, he’ll drag Luna off of her.

For the last 3 hours, he’s been downright mean. He’s gone after Luna in the middle of chowing down on his food, he dragged the cat around by her neck, and he continually bites Luna’s face to the point that she yips. I scorned him. I swatted his butt. I yelled his name in anger. He’s generally such a good dog. We don’t abuse him. He eats more than a sufficient amount of food. So why does he continue to act this way?

Is it just because we rescued him from a shelter? We already came to the conclusion that his previous owners were abusive. Even last night, he got in trouble and ran to Mommy, like all three of our animals do, but it didn’t change his attitude in the least. We’ve done a pretty good job at training him and a bulk of the efforts go to my husband. We weren’t married or living together when we got the dog, so he had Teemo 24/7.

I’m just wondering if we need to take him to the vet. If there’s a deeper issue, something medical, going on with him that we don’t see or know. Just now, when I got on him for picking on Luna, all I did was look at him, and he knew he was in trouble. He knew he was in trouble before I looked at him because he cowered before I could get the word “Teemo” out of my mouth. I told him “kennel” and he sat on the edge of the couch. I pointed at him again, he snarled, and as if scolding a child i said “Ooh, dog, you fucked up.” He put his ears back, hopped down and went to the “time out kennel.”

We’ve deemed the smaller kennel, which originally was and still kind of is Sopaipilla’s kennel for travelling purposes, the “time out kennel” because it’s small. It’s confined, there’s next to no room to do anything other than lie down. Its their version of a child’s “time out corner.” It works, they do something undesirable, like peeing in the house, they go in there for a maximum of 15 minutes. We never latch the door, they generally come out on their own, and then go suck up to which ever one of us put him or her in there. They don’t dread the thing. In fact, they use it as a play thing. It’s almost their club house. They take turns going in and out of it, they hide from each other in there, they protect it. Maybe that’s the problem. We don’t enforce it all the time as a punishment corner. We allow them to play with it. Should we not be doing that?

Back to Teemo. He’s the most jealous dog, right next to my mother’s oldest Shi-Tzu. Whenever Luna is getting attention, even though he’s off somewhere else doing his own thing, he has to butt in and push her out of the way. He was really accepting of her from the get go, he will cuddle with her, to an extent he protects her, but he constantly finds himself in a need for affection when he’s nowhere near us. He’ll approach us on his own and ask for attention, but there have been multiple times that he pushes Luna out of the way to sit on my lap.

As I type, he’s currently sticking his head out of the time out kennel, sulking.

So what training step did we miss? What do we need to do to stop his food aggression? What do we need to do to stop the jealousy? I want to take care of all of this BEFORE we have a real baby. I want him to be more mellowed out so that when our future little ones decide to play with him, he doesn’t get defensive and snap. I want to keep him for the rest of his life, not have to put him down, or give him to a shelter because we can’t trust him anymore.

He generally is a good dog. He actually just rejoined the world, and as usual, is lying next to me, licking my face and sucking up.

Anyway, does anyone have any suggestions? Do we need to take him to obedience training? If you asked me to list all the issues he still has, we’d be here for hours. This is the only big one though. The rest of them are easily avoided with distraction or redirection. I’m mostly just concerned about him asserting his dominance all the time.

“Hey wanna buy a cancer stick?”
“You don’t want to sell me a cancer stick”
“Uh, I don’t want to sell you a cancer stick”
“You want to go home and rethink your life.”
“uh, I want to go home and rethink my life”

First of all, I WAS going to upload a picture, but if you can’t name the scene or the movie GTFO right now. This blog has nothing to do with the movie, but I found it fitting for the topic so I included it.

I started reading the book “The Easy Way to Quit Smoking” because, well, I really want to quit smoking. For a multitude of reasons.
#1. It’s disgusting
#2. It’s costly
#3. I want to be healthier
#4. It’s disgusting
#5. I don’t want my kids to pick up the habit
#6. It’s disgusting.

I began thinking about this topic last week. I went 16 hours without a cigarette, and only had a craving for one once, which I chalked up to habit because it was after a meal. I felt great by the time I got off work. I didn’t buy a pack of cigarettes on the way home either. I came home, and the hubby looks at me and says “Hey lets go smoke!” I cringed a little. I told him I didn’t have any. He said “Here have one of mine.” I made an uncomfortable noise, and reluctantly agreed to it. I had one. It was nasty. It made me dizzy. I didn’t enjoy it, but look at me now. Smoking and writing a blog. I did this a second time. Went a full day’s work without a cigarette, and then broke it when I came home.

One of the arguments the author of this book makes is “If we know it’s bad for us, and we know that it’s eating our money, why do we still do it?” That’s a damn good question, sir. It’s made me rethink the whole aspect of smoking. Why did I start? When did I start? What were the circumstances?

When I was in middle school and up until about half way through high school, I vowed to myself I would NEVER smoke. This is a bad case of “never say never.” I went to a party, like most teens, before the “Above the Influence” ads came out, and drank. One night one of my friends said “Oh I want a cigarette.” Me, being drunk and impressionable, said “oh get me one too!” And voila! I started smoking. For 2 years it was difficult to come across the little cancer sticks since I was only 16, but I managed. I befriended those that were 18 and could get them for me. I didn’t smoke much since I was a closeted smoker. About the summer of 2007, the cat was out of the bag and I didn’t try to hide it anymore. I still didn’t smoke much. It was at most 5 cigarettes a day.

Somewhere along the line I went from 5 cigarettes a day to 15. I’m utterly disgusted by that. My car smells like smoke. Our patio reeks of cigarette butts. My teeth are not as white as they used to be. I get headaches all the time. I have a slight cough. I notice that I’m hoarse. Just talking about smoking has made me light up another one. It’s instinctual. I’ll watch a movie, the main character will light up a cigarette, and I’ll think “oooooh I want one too.”

I came to the conclusion last week after talking to one of my coworkers and the hubster, that I’m not even sure if at this point it’s even an addiction anymore. The hubby has no problem calling his an addiction, but it made me think about the power of suggestion. It litters our daily lives. The media goes two ways with smoking. They either make it look glamorous, or they show us graphic images and commercials describing the health risks. We’re told that it’s addictive, so we let ourselves think it is. We do it even thought we know it’s bad because we think we’re invincible and we want to be rebellious. I’m not sure that it contains enough nicotine to even be addictive. People have just outright quit cold turkey for years and never looked back. If it was that addictive, say as addictive as heroin, it wouldn’t be that easy to quit. If it was truly that addictive, we wouldn’t be able to replace it with a more productive or healthier habit. The key word here is “habit.” However, I’m not knocking the possibility that it is truly, in fact, addictive. I just wonder if this is peer pressure at it’s finest, like the rebellious child I’ve talked about before. As human beings we crave to do things we know are dangerous no matter what risks lie before us. Like me saying I was totally fine for 16 full hours without a cigarette until the husband mentioned something. I don’t really think that says anything about me having no will power since I passed four gas stations on my way home and didn’t buy a pack. Its the fact that he waved it in my face. I caved. I admit defeat. It does make me wonder though why I chose to say yes. If after a full day I felt good. My heart wasn’t racing, I didn’t have a headache, I wasn’t wheezing, and I ruined it all with just one puff.

My grandmother told me that on her way to the hospital when my grandfather was sick years ago, she bought a pack of cigarettes, smoked one out of the pack, and vowed it was her last one. To this day it was. I want that to be me. I want to be able to just say “no, I’m done. For reals this time” and know that I actually mean it. It’s difficult to go about doing this when my husband wants to continue smoking. He told me he thinks the moment he will end up quitting, is when I find out I’m pregnant. I’d like for it to be before then. I’d like to go home in October for our wedding, not have any cigarettes in hand, and be okay with that.

Every time I light up, I get halfway through the cigarette and think “I really didn’t want that” and the realization of how awful it tastes and smells catches up with me. I genuinely think it’s the power of suggestion. It’s the temptation of a break. It’s knowing I can sit down for 8 minutes without a single interruption and just be. At the same time, I know that every puff I take, I’m risking my life. I know that being on birth control and smoking holds it’s own risk of blood clots, yet I continue to do it.

I sincerely hope this book works for me, and maybe it will. Maybe I’m making every point he is trying to and not even aware of it. It just seems to me that if I could hold off for sixteen hours with out a single one, but one simple bug in my ear brought me back, I’m not TRULY addicted to smoking. I feel like now, I’m doing it more out of habit than anything. They say it takes a week to make a habit and a month to break it, with the first two weeks being the hardest to break said habit.

I believe the key is replacing it with something to preoccupy your time. I have gone on for hours crocheting and didn’t even think about having one until a character on TV lit one up. Then I had to pause what I was doing, and go outside. I’ve subjected myself to blistering heat, raging winds, and freezing temperatures for the sake of a cigarette. I’ve burned holes in clothes and seats in cars. I may as well be rolling cigarettes using dollar bills. It just all seem ridiculous and petty. I’m not getting to any sort of conclusion here. I’m not working towards a grand finale, unless that grand finale is tar filled lungs.

I’m done. I want to be done. I think I just partly need to find the courage to tell my husband so that I can have a buddy in this. It’s like working out in pairs. It’s easier to do it when you’re doing it with someone, and I’m sure that encouraging myself to be done would be a whole hell of a lot easier if the apple of my eye weren’t tempting me at every turn. As it so happens, I will probably have to take this journey on my own.

I just posted a video on my sister’s wall. Florence + The Machine – Shake it Out. It reminded me of her. Especially the parts “it’s always darkest before the dawn” and “it’s hard to dance with the devil on your back, so shake him off”

Then I read the lyrics. I mean, I really read them. I’m not so sure the song is entirely about her even though it makes me think of her. There’s a part in the song that reads this “And I’m damned if I do, I am damned if I don’t/ So here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope/ And I’m ready to suffer, I’m ready to hope/ It’s a shot in the dark and right at my throat/ Cause looking for heaven I found the devil in me/ Looking for heaven, found the devil in me/ Well what the hell I’m gonna let it happen to me”

The thing is, I’ve been to hell and back. I’ve seen the bad in me, and forgotten about the good. Something very unfortunate happened to me five years ago. It took almost two years to pick up the broken pieces of myself and put it all back together. I should be dead right now and I’m not. For some reason I’m still here.

I talked to a friend of mine about this because we were able to relate to each other on this level. I find it hard to talk about to anyone period, but for some reason I was able to open up to her about. I told her that I’m ashamed. I am so ashamed. I’m embarrassed. Part of me is still broken because of said incident. I still have trouble forgiving myself for what happened, and it’s difficult to forget about it and move on because I have a daily reminder of it. She said “Deal with it Kelley. You will always have that reminder of what happened, but it’s there so you don’t forget. You can’t keep playing the victim in this situation because that is what is allowing you to wallow in it and not move on.” I understand what she’s saying. I understand that I can’t sit here and think about it. I can’t look down at my arms and feel regret. I need to look at the life I’ve been given and be proud and happy. I am happy. I’m extremely happy. But every once in a while I have this little devil on my back that pops up and whispers in my ear “remember what happened? remember how awful you were? remember how many people you pushed away? remember what it feels like to give up?” and I can’t squash him. I know I’m stronger than that. I know I won’t go back there again because I won’t let myself. The only thing is, I have this twinge of doubt because of that demon. Because that demon won’t leave me be when that’s all I want. In order for it to go away, I have to forgive myself. How can I forgive myself for doing something so unforgivable?

There are two artists in particular that helped me through all this at the start. More specifically three songs: The Fray – You Found Me and Kelly Clarkson – Irvine and Sober. Kelly Clarkson’s album entitled “My December” was the thread I was holding on to. The whole album was a transition from darkness to strength. It’s still hard for me to listen to that album given the circumstances under which I listened to it, but it holds such a special place in my life. It’s one of those things, that not as a fan, but as one previously broken person to another, I would love the chance to tell her what a difference she made in my life with her words. It sounds silly, I know, but it’s truth

I was angry with God for the longest time. I felt like He showed up too late. He waited for a certain moment to save me when all I wanted in the moments leading up to that was for it all to end. I felt betrayed, and to an extent I still do. I know now that the reason it happened was so that I could become a better, stronger person, but that doesn’t mean that it can’t still stab me in the throat. As the days creep closer to August, my panic attacks and thoughts of regrets grow stronger. It’s something I’ve had to deal with for five years. After August, I’m fine. It always starts at the end of June and lasts through about the end of August.

I find myself wishing sometimes that I could be an advocate for those who can’t form those feelings into words. The feelings of hopelessness. I wish I could talk to that scared, hopeless, fragile girl that was me five years ago and tell her it’ll be okay. Tell her to suck it up and get help. Tell her that now her life is beautiful and that she just has to ride through the tears. That the metaphorical hole and big truck she used to write about is no longer a part of her life. To not make the move she wants to. If that were even possible, though, would I be the person I am today? Would I still be broken? So in that affect, would it be worth it? The pain I endured was for a reason. I’d just like to know what that reason is. There are still moments, the moments leading up to August, that I curse God and pray for a reason as why He allowed this happen to me. Every year I come to the conclusion that it’s something I have to figure out on my own.

The same friend I opened up to about this told me “There is a reason. The people that have succeeded didn’t have a bigger purpose. They served theirs, lived their lives, and touched people to the extent they could. You and I are still here because we have a bigger purpose. We’ll figure it out. We’ll discover our purpose.” I don’t know what that purpose is. I don’t know if my purpose is to bring children into the world, if it’s because I was meant for my husband, if it’s because I’m meant to touch other people’s lives, or something else entirely.

That being said, it’s time to bury that horse in the ground. It’s time to shake the devil off. I was a fool. I was blind. It’s time to forgive myself. I can’t forget the past, it will always be there. I will always have that reminder. It genuinely was darkest before the dawn. I need to realize He didn’t show up too late. He showed up just in time. He held me in his arms and made me stronger. That demon that follows me around is waiting for me to falter. It’s waiting for me to slip up. Waiting for that moment when it can settle back into me, but I won’t let it. I somehow always manage to flick him off my shoulder every year, and this year will be no different. I may need my month or so to mourn, but I will pick myself back up again. Every day I’m finding a different piece of me that I had forgotten was there and put it back into place. It may be a 10 year transformation, or maybe this is the last year I will ever feel broken because of it. I don’t know. No one does. I will fight through the panic attacks.

I decided I’m going to tattoo my arms. I’m going to transform the ugliness into beauty. My aim is not to cover it up because that won’t help. These next couple of months I will be cranky and I know it. It sounds so negative to say that I am playing the victim here, but aren’t I? The facts are that I’m still here and that my life now is beautiful. I’m happier than I’ve ever been. So why do I still dwell on it? Why can’t I forgive myself? It will happen eventually but in the mean time I need to learn to deal with it not cover it up.

I’m proud of who I am now, but there will always be that fear in me of “what if it happens again.” Maybe that fear is there so that it doesn’t happen again. Maybe my hurdle right now is learning to forgive, and to be able to forgive other people I have to first forgive myself. It will happen. I am hopeful, and I try to live every day hopeful and thankful for the future that lies in front of me. So I’ll end with one last link. Another song by Kelly Clarkson.

I’ve found that lately I’ve been using the following terms:
“In my day…”
“That’s not how music sounds”
“Kids these days..”
“When I was that age..”

And it wasn’t until the other day that I realized I wasn’t joking around half the time I said these things. It became more apparent that I am, in fact, getting old, when I walked into a gas station and I found they were selling “retro handsets.” Yep, that’s right folks. The phone I grew up with is now “retro.” I guess when I think “retro” I think 50’s and 60’s. Nope, not anymore! The new retro is 90’s. What…the…

A few years ago I ran into a kid at Wal-Mart that thought that the Nintendo 64, released in 1997, was the first Nintendo ever. I obligingly stood there and explained to him that the NES, originally released in the mid 80’s was actually the first of Nintendos. I explained to him that the games were long cartridges that stuck in the top of console. He looked at me like I was an idiot. I gave up.

Last year, while substituting at the high school, I took the kids to their Independent Living class, on the second day of school. I walked into the classroom, and a football player looked me up and down. I shook my head and laughed silently as he attempted to woo me. He asked my name I told him he could call me Ms. Scherer. Later on, he discovered that I wasn’t a student and that I was a substitute. Disgusted he said “Wait! How old ARE you?” I replied that I was soon to be 24. “God! You’re like…OLD.” I laughed and said “Uh…thanks?” I wanted to say “Oh you’re not that much younger than me! What are you like 15? You’re not that far off.” Until I thought about it and realized that he was almost a decade younger than me. A DECADE.

I went into Office Max when we first moved here and this was the first time I saw the “retro handsets.” A kid working there approached me after he saw me eyeing them in contempt. “Yeah these are really cool! They’re made to look like those really old phones that they don’t make anymore!” I looked at him and said “yeah…I know what it is. I had one.” He was amazed. He explained he’d never seen one and had grown up with cordless phones and cell phones.

I passed a group of tweens in the mall talking about how they just LOVE listening to “oldies”. I waited to hear what they were going to say even though I knew I wouldn’t like it, and sure enough, they mentioned songs that were familiar to me. Songs that I can pin point exact moments in my life. Songs that were on the radio when I was in middle school.

I feel disgustingly old. I discovered my first white hair about 3 years ago. Not gray, white. Full on, snow white hair. Just one. Now….there’s more. I am only 25 years old (almost). I don’t need this crap!

I came home last night from my new friends house, and the hubby asked how it was visiting with her. I told him that we had a lot in common and actually found a lot to talk about. He asked what, I chuckled a little, and told him that the bulk of our conversation was about how kids these days suck. How when we were little (there I go again) we didn’t need fancy gadgets to keep us preoccupied. I told the hubby she was 31. We understood each other because we were pretty much the same generation. “What!? A 31 year old is not the same generation,” he said.
“oh yes, dear. She is the same generation. She was born in 81.”
His eyes got huge. I could see him thinking it over, and he said “Holy…fuck…She’s only 2 years older than me. That is the same generation! SHIT!”
“yep.”
“Oh. My. God. I’m almost 30.”
“Yep.”

It’s strange for me to think of it like that. To think that in 5 years I’ll be turning 30. It’s not right. I can’t imagine how my parents feel. It just seemed so far away a year ago. 2 years ago, or 3 years ago, but it’s slowly creeping up on me. I have to enjoy the mundane bullshit of being an adult. I have to pay bills, cook, clean, work, and be broke. I don’t have a safety net to fall into. Mommy doesn’t kiss my owies anymore. If I’ve done something too much, I can feel it in my muscles. My wrist, ankle, and knee hurt when bad weather is coming. We’re planning on children. In my mindset, I’m still 21. Squandering my money, doing foolish things, except I’m really not. Somewhere along the line, I grew up. At some point, that all got put behind me. I somehow managed to grow up without even knowing it. It silently crept up on me and settled in before I could stop it.

I read a blog about transforming from girl to woman, and the woman that wrote it basically said the same thing that I am now. She didn’t know when this happened, or how. It just happened without her knowledge. I’d like to be able to pin point the exact moment that I became an adult, but I don’t know when it was. I slightly resent that I’ve grown up. I’m glad I’ve learned and that I have grown up, but it sucks. It genuinely sucks.

It’s little things that are telling me I’m an adult. I get annoyed with teenagers too easily. The hubby and I talk about children, finances, and do boring things. I have to have my glasses for everything now because I’ve realized that I can’t force myself to not wear my reading glasses when I know I’ll need them. I’ve learned to manage my money, and not spend it frivolously. I can’t stay up past midnight and most nights. I feel lazy if I sleep in until 10 am because I feel like the whole day is wasted. What happened to the carefree little girl I was?

That’s just it. She was a girl. She didn’t know any better. She was too reliant on other people to take care of her because she didn’t know how to take care of herself. She didn’t know how to care for someone else. Maybe it happened the moment I knew I was in love with the hubby. Maybe it happened when the words “I do” escaped my mouth. Maybe it happened well before that. All I know is, this sucks a little.

I can’t explain it. I don’t want to say “I wish I was ___ years old again” because that would revert me back to the immature state that I was in, but I can’t necessarily say that getting older is awesome. I’ve told you about my panic attacks and irrational fear of getting old. If I was nth years old again I wouldn’t have the life I do now. That girl I was had given up hope on finding love. She was headstrong and ridiculous. I may still be headstrong, but I don’t feel ridiculous. My children will probably thing I’m a lunatic, but sometimes I thought my parents were nuts. Its like that moment when you realize that half the shit your parents told you was absolutely correct. All of the “one day you’ll thank me for this” and “someday you’ll realize I’m right” bullshit is catching up to me.

Yes, being an adult is hard. It sucks. I hate working but I love working. I prefer to stay at home than to go to the bar because it’s cheaper, and one of my biggest decisions this year was which dining room table and furniture set to get. In the process of growing up, I learned to love and forgive. I learned that I’m not always right (even though I will fight to the death to prove I am). So, kids, enjoy your youth. Enjoy having your freedom. Enjoy your safety net. Don’t act spoiled. Don’t be materialistic, because one day, you wont’ have your parents to rely on. It’ll just be you and your decisions.

I’m going to start this off by giving a little history of our misfit family.

Sophie-Cat was a stray. I spent a lot of time over at my sister’s apartment when she first moved in there, and it was a disgustingly cold and windy winter. The temperature was below zero, we had had two blizzards already, and the wind chill made it even colder. Every time I would go over there, this cat would come up to me, begging for attention. She was cold, skinny, and just looked pathetic. I couldn’t take it anymore. Any time someone set out food for her it would freeze, but she kept hanging out at that apartment complex because it was probably better than nothing at all. I made the decision one night that I was taking her in. I gathered supplies, and put her in a kennel. She spent the next month and a half (before I had her claws removed) loving on me, sleeping with me, sleeping ON me, and cuddled under blankets. She gained weight, and started to look healthy. I found out she had to have only been about 6 months old. It made me sad that someone would just abandon a kitten or any kind of animal that way, but I felt lucky to have her so that I could take care of her.

Teemo (aka Captain Teemo… I guess it’s a League of Legends thing), was a shelter rescue. The hubby had to do some harsh training with him because when we first brought him home, he pottied in the house, he chewed up everything, and was overly sensitive about certain parts of his body. I hate to say it, but he was a biter. We came to the conclusion that he was badly abused. We couldn’t touch his paws, head, ears, or hind legs without him wincing or snapping.

Luna (aka Loony Bin/Luna Lovegood/Pup Pup) we got as an 8 week old puppy from the shelter here in Charleston. She’s a pug and English Bulldog mix. We got to start fresh on the training with her. We were warned that she was a trouble maker, but for the first month we had her, we didn’t really see it.

I went inside this morning to grab a cup of coffee. That’s it. It took me a whole 5 minutes tops. I came outside to see a box of cigarettes chewed to bits by the puppy. That makes box number five, and the fourth time I’ve asked myself “why haven’t we learned to put them up where she can’t reach them?” It’s not just that though, last week our corgi chewed a hole in the fitted sheet on the bed, and just yesterday, the cat pissed on the floor…right outside her litter box.

My father has said before “just get rid of them! They can’t learn anything at this point.” I can’t. I simply can’t. They’re like our children. After we got Luna, I compared Teemo and Sophie (aka Sophisticat/Sopapilla/Kitty Cat Meow Meow/Sophie Anne) to children we had before we got married. They hated each other at first. Well at least Sophie hated Teemo at first, in fact she terrified him. She went into attack mode the moment we introduced the two, but Teemo just wanted to play. It wasn’t until she went after him that he realized she wasn’t going to take his shit. BUT they learned to get along. They’ll cuddle sometimes, Sophie will initiate play SOMETIMES, but most of the time Teemo will chase after her and want to play. I’d like to think it’s because he’s getting back at her for terrorizing him at the beginning. ANYWAY, Sophie and Teemo are like the children we had before the hubby and I got married. Luna is child we had after we got married. Teemo will get all emo every once in a while because he’s not getting the attention he deserves, and Sophie just flat out hates her. Luna is oblivious.

I imagine if Sophie could talk she might say the following:“Uh…this bitch won’t leave me alone”“I know you just fed me, but I took a couple of bites and now my bowl looks empty. I’m going to harass you until you fix the problem.”“I’m going to ignore your feeble attempts to get my attention for what you call ‘cuddle time’ so that I can interrupt you when it looks like you’re doing something important”“Open the door because Luna just did something you’re not going to like and I don’t want to be here when you yell at her. Also, I have more important things to do, like sit on the other side of the door and meow like I want to come back out, but then never actually do when you open the door.” “I don’t care how many times you put me in bed with you, I’m going to get up eventually and crazily run around the house like I just did a bunch of cocaine at SOME point during the night”“Get these assholes off of me before I start clawing them! Oh wait, that’s right, you had my claws removed. I forgot I hate you. Fuck it, I’ll just bite them back”“I know you’re crocheting, but I want attention, so I’m going to lay directly on the skein of yarn you’re using and none of the other ones so that you can’t continue your work. I won’t move until you pay attention to me. Seriously…watch me.”
“Oh and just an FYI, I chewed on your cell phone charger. It’s a fun toy, but it probably doesn’t work anymore”
You know…all the asshole things cats do…

Now I keep trying to remind myself that Luna is just a puppy and that she’s acting the way she is because she doesn’t know any better, but here’s the thing, she has picked up one “sit”, “stay”, “high five”, “shake”, and “down”. We’re able to take her outside to potty without a leash. She sleeps in bed with us, but FOR SOME REASON, every time we go inside, she chews on boxes of cigarettes. We scold her, rub her nose in it, swat her on the butt, tell her no, and she spends the next 30 minutes pouting and giving me this sad, stupid look. We’ve had to wash the cover to one of our couch cushions so many times because she’s peed or pooped on it, that the zipper broke off. EVERY SINGLE TIME, we rub her nose in it, tell her no, swat her on the butt, and she spends the rest of the day in her crate, only coming out to potty and eat. Just like clock work, 2 weeks later, she’ll do it again. WHY? She’s a smart puppy. She picked up on all her commands so quickly! Why are these two things SO HARD for her to pick up. No! You many not use the couch as a toilet. No! You may not chew up cigarettes. She’s such a bitch sometimes…(stupid pun intended).

Now Teemo on the other hand is a whole other story. Teemo has come a long way, but there are still things about him that are just ridiculously annoying. He has chewed up 2 pairs of my shoes, he won’t eat unless you’re sitting RIGHT THERE to monitor him, and he gets a hold of anything and everything we leave out that looks edible. He tears up trash bags and eats the insides if we leave them out. Occasionally he’ll snap at us, or at the puppy, but he’ll get in trouble and then spend the rest of the night in “emo-mode”.

Even through all of this, the bad behaviors, and me wanting to kick each one of them across the room at LEAST once a day, I can’t get rid of them. They haven’t physically hurt us or anyone living in the neighborhood. They just do really stupid shit sometimes. I don’t know if they’re resistant to training or if we’re not doing it properly. Either way, its irritating, but as I’m sitting here, Luna stares up at me with a stupid giddy smile on her face, wagging her tail just begging for me to play with her. Teemo is chasing Sophie around the house and they’re having a good time. All three are oblivious to the fact that the hubby and I get annoyed with them on a regular basis. They just recognize the love, and I have to say, I do love our little group of misfits.